The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [132]
Because of Etta, Mick still slept in the living-room. The short sofa cramped her so much that she had to make up sleep in study hall at school. Every other night Bill swapped with her and she slept with George. Then a lucky break came for them.
A fellow who had a room upstairs moved away. When after a week had gone by and nobody answered the ad in the paper, their Mama told Bill he could move up to the vacant room.
Bill was very pleased to have a place entirely by himself away from the family. She moved in with George. He slept like a little warm kitty and breathed very quiet.
She knew the night-time again. But not the same as in the last summer when she walked in the dark by herself and listened to the music and made plans. She knew the night a different way now. In bed she lay awake. A queer afraidness came to her. It was like the ceiling was slowly pressing down toward her face. How would it be if the house fell apart? Once their Dad had said the whole place ought to be condemned. Did he mean that maybe some night when they were asleep the walls would crack and the house collapse? Bury them under all the plaster and broken glass and smashed furniture? So that they could not move or breathe? She lay awake and her muscles were stiff. In the night there was creaking. Was that somebody walking--somebody else awake besides her--Mister Singer? She never thought about Harry. She had made up her mind to forget him and she did forget him. He wrote that he had a job with a garage in Birmingham. She answered with a card saying ‘O.K.’ as they had planned. He sent his mother three dollars every week. It seemed like a very long time had passed since they went to the woods together.
During the day she was busy in the outside room. But at night she was by herself in the dark and figuring was not enough. She wanted somebody. She tried to keep George awake. ‘It sure is fun to stay awake and talk in the dark. Less us talk awhile together.’ He made a sleepy answer. ‘See the stars out the window. If s a hard thing to realize that every single one of those little stars is a planet as large as the earth.’
‘How do they know that?’
‘They just do. They got ways of measuring. That’s science.’
‘I don’t believe in it’ She tried to egg him on to an argument so that he would get mad and stay awake. He just let her talk and didn’t seem to pay attention. After a while he said: ‘Look, Mick! You see that branch of the tree? Don’t it look like a pilgrim forefather lying down with a gun in his hand? ‘
‘It sure does. That’s exactly what it’s like. And see over there on the bureau. Don’t that bottle look like a funny man with a hat on?’
‘Naw,’ George said. ‘It don’t look a bit like one to me.’
She took a drink from a glass of water on the floor. ‘Less me and you play a game--the name game. You can be It if you want to. Whichever you like. You can choose.’ He put his little fists up to his face and breathed in a quiet, even way because he was falling asleep. ‘Wait, George!’ she said. ‘This’ll be fun. I’m somebody beginning with an M. Guess who I am.’
George sighed and his voice was tired. ‘Are you Harpo Marx?’
‘No, I’m not even in the movies.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sure you do. My name begins with the letter M and I live in Italy. You ought to guess this.’ George turned over on his side and curled up in a ball.
He did not answer. ‘My name begins with an M but sometimes I’m called a f name beginning with D. In Italy. You can guess.’ The room was quiet and dark and George was asleep. She pinched him and twisted his ear. He groaned but did not awake. She fitted in close to him and pressed her face against his hot little naked shoulder. He would sleep all through the night while she was figuring with decimals. Was Mister Singer awake in his room upstairs? Did the ceiling creak because he was walking quietly up and down, drinking a cold orange crush and studying the chess men laid out on the table? Had ever he felt a terrible afraidness like this one? No. He had never done anything wrong. He had never done wrong and his heart was quiet in the nighttime. Yet at the same time he would understand. If only she could tell him about this, then it would be better. She thought of how she would begin to tell him. Mister Singer--I know this girl not any older than I am--Mister Singer, I don